Friday the Thirteenth
by MLaw
Summary: just a bit of on-going silliness in honor of a day that comes 'at least' three times a year. Even U.N.C.L.E. agents can be a little superstitious. pre-saga series
1. Chapter 1

"Don't do that!" Napoleon said as his partner ducked beneath a ladder.

"Why it is just a ladder, there is nothing resting upon it; so no danger of anything falling on me?" Illya answered, a bit confused by his friends warning.

"You don't know what day it is?"

"Of course I do. I checked my calendar. It is Friday."

"Yeah, but the date Illya."

"It is the thirteenth...oh yes that is the date you Americans are so concerned with."

"Illya, it's only the most unlucky day of the year." Solo chided him.

"Napoleon how can a day be unlucky?"

"Bad things just tend to happen on Friday the thirtheen that's all"

There was a loud crash and the two looked back, seeing that the ladder that the Russian had just walked under had fallen.

"See what I mean?" Napoleon said.

"I would take it as being lucky, my friend as I was not under it when it fell." Illya smiled, "so what are the other things that one is supposed to avoid on this unfortunte date?"

"Black cats are bad...you shouldn't let one cross your path."

"Oh so when I stopped to pet Mrs. Manetti's cat 'Midnight" this morning I was supposed to have bad luck?"

"Yup, the worst kind."

"Well after I finished petting the cat, I found a twenty dollar bill laying beside the curb."

"And nothing happened?"

"Well the awning above my head fell down on one side and hit..."

"Ah ha! See so something bad did happen to you! See!"

"You did not let me finish Napoleon. Had I not been bent over petting the cat I would have been hit in the head by it."

"Oh" He said as they sat to drink their coffee at a table in the commissary.

"So what else must I avoid?" Illya was chuckling at this point.

"What ever you do, don't break a mirror!"

"That I can understand, broken glass can be very dangerous thing."

"No, a broken mirror brings seven years bad luck!"

The Russian sighed as he was tiring of this very unscientific discussion about silly supestitions.

"Look just remember to knock on wood, keep your fingers crossed, sleep facing south,walk in the rain, avoid cracks in the sidewalk, keep an acorn in you pocket, and if you see a penny on the ground don't touch it unless it's heads up and you will avoid bad luck."

Napoleon proceeded to throw a handful of salt over his left shoulder as they got up from the table, when Illya's new shoes slipped on it, sending him flying feet first; falling to the floor. He sat there, red-faced with embarrassment, glaring at his partner.

"See...what'd I tell you? Friday the Thirteenth!" Solo warned him.


	2. Chapter 2

Illya Kuryakin limped to the table in the commissary, joining his partner there.

So tovarisch, here it is seven months to the day and it's Friday the 13th again. Anything happen that I should know about?" Solo grinned.

"Please you are not going to start in with that again?" Illya rolled his eyes. He knew his parnter was trying to bait him about his limp, but he wasn't going to fall for it "As I recall you, the one who did everything under the cloud of this superstition, was the one who was injured last year."

"That had nothing to do with Friday the 13th. I was wearing new shoes and slipped on the salt!" Napoleon protested, rubbing his butt absentmindedly, thinking of the indignity he had suffered that day.

"Ha! Had you not thrown a handful of salt over your shoulder to counter your superstitious beliefs, then you never would have fallen on your zhopa." Illya lorded it over him.

"Honestly Napoleon an intelligent man such as yourself? Find a penny, pick it up, black cats crossing your path, breaking a mirror is a surefire way to doom yourself, knock on wood, cross your fingers, opening an umbrella indoors, throwing salt over your shoulder, making a wish on a wishbone..._bozhe moi_, it is all nonsense."

So did Mrs. Manetti's black cat cross your path today?" Napoleon asked.

"Yes she did."

"And did anything happen?"

Illya stood slowly, looking intently at his partner, then sighed. He had been deftly maneuvered into telling the story of what happened had happened to cause his limp.

"Yes as a matter of fact, I twisted my ankle when I stepped off the curb. But that was just a clumsy accident and not because of a black cat crossing my path."

"That's one." Napoleon laughed. "Remember, bad luck comes in threes."

"Napoleon!"

"Well has anything else unpleasant happened to you since that?"

Kuryakin leaned forward, putting his hands and full his weight on the table, then suddenly it gave way and collapsed under him, sending him falling on his face."

Napoleon leaped up just in time so the flying table missed him, but was unable to grab his partner before he went down. He leaned forward, pulling the embarrassed Russian to his feet.

"Is that two?"

Illya clicked his tongue in annoyance, then looked at his watch." We have a briefing in five minutes, I suggest we go now." He said curtly, ignoring the staring eyes, and muffled tittering that surrounded him.

Napoleon followed after him, passing through the pneumatic doors as they opened silently. Illya took one step out into the corridor, then his foot slipped out from under him, sent him flying up into the air and landing right down on his backside."

"Mr. Kuryakin! Oh my gosh, are you okay?"Asked Bernie from housekeeping. "I was bringing the caution sign...I just waxed these floors. I'm so sorry."

"Noooo,"Illya groaned, "I am fine. It is alright, accidents happen."

Napoleon gave his partner a hand, pulling him up from the floor as he looked a little pale and was holding his lower back.

"Napoleon?" He whispered." Do you still have your rabbit's foot?"


	3. Chapter 3

Napoleon stepped through his office door with a sense of dread. It was Friday the 13th and based on past experience, things might not go well for him. He was on light duty with a sprained right wrist and sighed thinking of his partner.

The last two times the 13th fell on a Friday he had a string of bad luck as did Illya and that being the case, it tickled away at him like an annoying itch that just wouldn't go away.

The first problem was that Illya was away on an assignment with April Dancer. That fact made him concerned for his friend as he wasn't there to cover his back. Not that Aprill wasn't capable of doing it but still was of no comfort to the CEA. He pulled his communicator deciding to check on the pair. "Channel D-Kuryakin."

"Kuryakin here." The familiar voice answered sleepily. That didn't sound right.

"Illya, is everything alright with you...and April," he added, as if she were almost an afterthought.

"Yes we are fine, why?"

"It's Friday the 13th, that's why."

"Maybe where you are, but where we are it is not as we have seemed to it for the most part crossing the International date line. Here it it 6:57 a.m. and it is Saturday the 14th. Is that all you had to contact me about? I am quite tired and need to go back to sleep if you do not mind."

"Oh sorry, I didn't pay attention to the time. You sure you're okay chum?"

"Yawn... we are fine, now may I go back to sleep? We have a long day of meetings ahead of us."

Napoleon sighed, not feeling right. "Give me a call later just to let me know you've had no problems."

"If you insist. Kuryakin Out." The communicator went to static as Illya closed the transmission, leaving his partner still with that uneasy feeling hanging over him like a dark pall.

Napoleon looked at his wristwatch taking note that is was almost 7 p.m. and thinking it was going to be a long night. He was scheduled to do a double shift and wouldn't get out of headquarters until two in the morning.

It was time to hit the commissary for some dinner. So far all things had been quiet, no imminent threats from T.H.R.U.S.H. raving mad scientists or ne'r do wells, so that was a good thing. And he'd not experienced any bad luck...maybe this was going to be a uneventful day after all?

He took the elevator to the commissary level, holding off stepping out to just make sure the coast was clear, and he looked left and right before exiting to the corridor. That's when he saw it, the scene moving as if it were in slow motion.

Gina, the new girl from communications, slipped on something unseen. Her arms air planing backwards as she tried to regain her balance, but the effort was fruitless as she went flying. It was then as if a switch was flicked, with everything returning to normal speed and Napoleon dove forwards, catching her in his arms before she hit the floor.

"Oh my!" She said breathlessly,"Thank you for saving me from an embarrassing moment! The world would have gotten quite a view if I'd fallen."

"Really?" He flirted," Aren't you wearing any underthings?"

"Napoleon Solo!" She giggled, then whispered in his ear, "That's for me to know and you to find out."

"Your place or mine?"

"Mine of course dear." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Bring Thai food and that wonderful wine we had last time."

"Will do." He smiled, thinking this was going to be a good Friday the 13th after all.

Suddenly there was a howl from around the corner, sending the senior agent dashing towards it.

Mark Slate was face down on the floor, his ankle caught in a pneumatic door that had closed on him as he'd been walking out.. "Bloody stupid door! Damn, I think me ankle's broken!"

"Take it easy Mark," Napoleon said as he helped pry the door open, pulling the downed agent gingerly up to his feet.

"Put some weight on it...go slow."

Mark hissed as he lowered his foot to the floor, realizing it wasn't as painful as he thought it would be. "Guess it's not broken. Thanks guv, I think if the pressure from the door was on it longer, it might have done more damage."

"No problem, glad I was here to help. I suggest you get to medical and have Dr. Schneider check it out just in case. Do you want me to go with you?"

"No thanks, I can manage on my own, thanks again mate," the Brit said as he limped away, heading toward the elevator.

Napoleon shrugged. "Suit yourself. Just be careful, it's Friday the 13th you know."

A page came over the intercom, a breathy voice that he recognized as Marlene...platinum blonde and built. He paused for a moment, closing his eyes with a smile, remembering their last evening together.

"Napoleon Solo please report to Mr. Waverly's conference room immediately."

That put a spring in his step as he walked down the antiseptic grey corridors. Along the way he witnessed and assisted with two more trips and a stack of files that went flying. He cringed as one of the ladies dropped her gold compact, smashing the small mirror, hoping she really wouldn't have seven years bad luck.

He passed a maintenance worker replacing an emergency bulb in the ceiling, the ladder went flying out from under the man and Solo grabbed it just in time to keep him from falling off it.

Napoleon stopped for a split second, shaking his head as he reached into his suit pocket, grabbing hold of the pink rabbit's foot his partner had given him. Illya had borrowed his old good luck charm when he had his run of bad luck the previous Friday the 13th. Though Napoleon suspected that fact that it was pink was intended to be some sort of joke on Illya's part. Regardless, he nervously rubbed the furry thing between his fingers.

The doors to the conference room opened silently, and as he sauntered inside, Alexander Waverly called him to be seated.

"Mr. Solo, it has come to my attention there has been a series of mishaps occurring around headquarters. At present I have Security doing a sweep along with R & D checking to see if there has been some sort of infiltration within the building... a gas or drug of some sorts perhaps causing this melee."

"Sir, maybe it's just coincidence, it is after all Friday the 13th. Perhaps some of the staff are just nervous about the connotations of the day and by being so are actually causing themselves to have accidents at a subconscious level. At least that's one of Mr. Kuryakin's theories." Not that he agreed with what his partner thought on the subject, but it sounded a little better than spouting superstitious mumbo jumbo to the Old Man.

"Friday the 13th...balderdash, nonsense. pure superstition. I want you to oversee this investigation and report the findings by days end. Now dismissed."

Napoleon nodded his acceptance, leaving the office a bit incredulous, but it was an order he had to follow. At least it wasn't a complicated one.

Alexander Waverly waited until the doors closed, then opened a side cabinet, pulling out a small horseshoe and laying it on the conference table in front of him, as he lit his briar pipe taking a few strong puffs on it, watching the smoke circle up and around his head...


	4. Chapter 4

A bemused bartender at the local watering hole favored by U.N.C.L.E. agents, listened in on a conversation he was not surprised to be hearing. Spies were a superstitious lot in general, but there were some die hards who brushed the unexplained all off as nonsense.

He poured another Ballantine from the tap for the Brit, sliding it across the bar to him.

The man reached for his wallet, but was waved off, with a double tap of the barman's knuckle on the top of the bar, signalling the drink was on the house.

"I just wanna sit back and listen to this here discussion, if yez don't mind?"

"Not at all, no secrets here. Thanks mate, cheers," Mark Slate replied, raising his drink with a nod.

"I can't believe you ponces believe in this Friday the 13th palaver," Mark Slate countered, after taking a large gulp of beer from his pilsner glass.

"I had said it once myself that it was preposterous Mark, but the odds against the things that happened to me on that one single day were astronomical." Illya said, downing his shot of vodka.

"I tried warning you Illya," Napoleon added,"but you wouldn't believe me until you started getting jinxed."

"True, but you have made a believer of me."

"Jinxed Napoleon? Please that's a load of rot if I ever heard it." Mark snorted, and raised his glass again. "Here's to good luck mates, just to ease your minds a bit."

"Thanks Mark, but that doesn't negate the fact that it's Friday the 13th again. It can occur as many as three times in a year and I plan to be prepared." Napoleon grinned, holding up and assortment of talismans- a rabbit's foot, a shaker of salt, and a twisted Italian Cornetto horn made of silver...all to ward off bad luck.

Illya proudly displayed his own collection, a small Russian-made horse shoe with tiny bells hanging from it, a bauble called an _Omamori_ that was a traditional Japanese charm inscribed with words of luck. He then pulled a penny from his pocket that he'd found laying heads up on the sidewalk, repeating the rhyme. "See a penny and pick it up, and all the day you will have good luck." He placed it on the bar next to his newly filled shot glass, then knocked three times on the bar top.

"Remember Mark, bad luck comes in threes. Has anything happened to you today that would fit in that category?" Napoleon asked cautiously.

"I don't believe in your superstitious nonsense. As far as I'm concerned, you blokes can keep all your trinkets." He retorted, then downed the rest of his drink.

A chair suddenly came flying past Marks head, missing him by a hairs breath, while Napoleon and Illya ducked for cover. A bar fight had broken out with bodies, fists and furniture hurtling in every direction.

"Time to make a hasty retreat," Illya barked, but as he took one step from the bar his nose was met with a fist, sending him reeling backwards.

A large man stepped up and grabbed Napoleon by his lapels. "What are you looking at Mr. Fancypants?"

"Now just hold on a minute, I'm an innocent bystander," he said, holding on tightly to his good luck charms.

"Yeah right!" Came the reply as he was hoisted in the air and tossed across the room.

After watching his fellow agents go down for the count, Mark decided to make himself scarce...it was only a bar fight and those two could take care of themselves. Besides, Mr. Waverly would not appreciate three of his top agents being involved in such an seedy altercation when off duty.

Mark slipped from his stool and walked from the bar amidst the free for all as if he'd become invisible. No one attempted to grab him, or took a swing at him either for that matter.

He safely exited the bar with a sigh of relief, seating himself on a bench outside on the sidewalk to wait for the others.

Several minutes later the battered and bruised team of Solo and Kuryakin emerged.

"How the hell did you get out of there without so much as a scratch?" Napoleon coughed, wiping blood away from his split lip. "And don't say you were lucky." He perused his torn suit jacket, wondering if it could be put on an expense report even though the damage occurred technically on his own time.

Illya dropped onto the bench beside Slate, lowering his head as he applied pressure to a bloody nose, and wiped it with his handkerchief. "I think it is broken," he bemoaned unhappily.

"So you still don't believe in Friday the 13th Mark?" Napoleon stared at him.

"Pure coincidence mate, as your Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, "_Shallow men believe in luck or in circumstance. Strong men believe in cause and effect." _Now why don't we toodle off to headquarters and get you two up to medical and have you tended to?"

Napoleon was not sure if he should be insulted by that quote, and thought for a second that it sounded like something Illya would have said, before he became a believer.

"And have Mr. Waverly find out?" Illya interrupted, giving Mark the _stink eye. _"I think not. Napoleon do you have any vodka at your place?"

"In the freezer and enough to ward off anything and lots of ice too. Coming Mark?"

"No thanks guv, I think I'll take my chances at another bar. I feel like being out and about tonight."

As Illya and Napoleon hobbled off, Mark Slate reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the four-leaf clover he'd found growing through a crack in the sidewalk outside of headquarters that morning. He gave it a little kiss, and popped it back into his breast pocket as he went off in search of another drinking establishment.

He snickered, knowing that he'd pulled one over on his fellow agents and with a little luck, they wouldn't find out.


	5. Chapter 5

He walked nervously through the grey corridors of UNCLE's San Diego headquarters; his eyes darting back and forth looking for anything that might jump out at him or fall or slip.

George Dennell was a high strung, emotional wreck at the moment, as it was Friday the 13th. He never left his home on that date for fear of what retributions fate would send his way. No talisman or charm would do, no, not for George Dennell.

Why Alexander Waverly had to send him to California to present a new training program he'd developed for keeping agents reports more simplified was beyond him.

"Couldn't have been for the 12th or the 14th...it had to be today," he grumbled.

"Aaaah," he let out a startled shriek as someone came up behind him, tapping him on the shoulder and taking him completely off guard.

"Why George darling, fancy meeting you here," said April Dancer, "I thought you never left New York."

She wrapped her arm around his as they continued to walk.

George found himself completely tongue tied. "Wow, ugh gee April...I um."

"Relax will you, it's not like I'm going to bite your head off. It's just me, silly goose." She smiled at him charmingly and that melted away his insecurity. "So what are you doing here so far from home?"

"Ugh, Mr. Waverly sent me here to present a seminar on the new filing system for field reports. No more triplicate...they're going to be scanned into our computer database. It'll mean a lot less paper and once file 40 is loaded onto the mainframe computer, that will mean a lot of hard copy paper to be shredded...shredded, oh God isn't that an awful word?"

"Shredded? I suppose that depends on what's being cut up into tiny little pieces." April grinned.

"Oh no, don't use that phrase, 'cut up." He cringed. "It makes me too nervous."

"George, why are you so jumpy dear, what's wrong?"

"Don't you know what day it is?"

"Why it's Friday of ...OH, now I know what you're fussing about. It's Friday the 13th. Tsk, George I would have thought an intelligent man such as yourself wouldn't be drawn into that superstitious nonsense." She innocently batted her eyelashes at him.

"April, how could you not believe in it? I mean so many bad things happened to people on this day. and all because they're too careless to..."

"George, you name me anything significant that happened on a Friday the 13th!" April challenged him.

"Well the Knights Templar were arrested on a Friday the 13th and imprisoned by King Philip in 1307 to name one.

"That's an awfully long time ago." April snickered.

"Hey I'm just getting started..."

In 1521 the Aztec empire fell to Cortez on a Friday the 13th.

April covered her mouth, trying not to laugh out loud, knowing that Cortez didn't conquer them all in one day.

"In 1932 the largest brush fire in all of Australia scorched over 5 million acres on.."

"Yes I know George on Friday the 13th," April repeated.

"The Nazis kicked off the blitz on Friday the 13th, starting 76 straight days of bad luck for the British."

"George, I think you're mistaken there, as my memory serves me correctly, the blitz began September 7th and ended on May 16th."

"Oh, ooookay, maybe I was thinking of September 13th 1940, when German bombs hit Buckingham Palace, destroying the palace's chapel. Well here's another one...On May 13, 1960, at Cape Canaveral, it was the first launch of a Delta rocket to send the Echo satellite into space. The first stage of the multistage rocket worked fine and it took off of the launch pad, but trouble developed with the second stage of the rocket and the satellite never reached the intended orbit and Echo only orbited the Earth for a few months. Now how's that for bad luck?"

"Sorry, you still haven't convinced me." April ducked as a maintenance man swung around the corner with a ladder balanced on his shoulder nearly missing hitting her in the head.

"Those are mere happenstance, and not proof of bad luck,' she said, not batting an eye.

The door to Research and Development suddenly opened and something came flying out into the corridor; April reached out and snatched it just before the object hit her in the face. She looked down to see it was a cricket ball.

"Oh sorry miss," A lab tech came running to her. "We were just experimenting with a solvent to make a ball travel faster. You weren't hurt were you."

"Not in the least, " she smiled, handing him back his experiment.

The tech accepted it, turning away from her, and just as instantly as he'd appeared...he slipped on the floor landing on his bum."

"See now if that isn't bad luck, I don't know what is," George insisted.

"Excuse me," the embarrassed tech said. " I must have

gotten some of the solvent on my shoes." He hiked himself up, heading back to the lab.

"See, a reasonable explanation, just a careless accident." April smiled, "No such thing as bad luck," she said, hiding her crossed fingers behind her back.

"That's the operative word George, 'careless.' Did you know that there's actually a disorder for people who really believe in the power of Friday the 13th? It's called 'friggatriskaidekaphobia,' April shrugged her shoulders, amused she was able to pronounce the word. "Things happen to people everyday, and most often accidents happen because of carelessness. Just because it's Friday the 13th doesn't mean that bad things are predestined to happen to us."

"How can you believe that, I mean look and Napoleon and Illya; now those two have learned their lessons about the 13th, after all the spills and falls and injuries they've gone through."

"Those things happen to them...us every day dear. You really shouldn't take them out of context. We have dangerous jobs and things are bound to happen in and out of the field."

"Hey I even heard a rumor that your partner carries a four leaf clover for good luck," George snickered.

"Tsk. Yes Mark does and I know Illya and Napoleon carry a pocket full of trinkets on Friday the 13th...for all the good it does them. Think about it George, those charms to ward off evil, wouldn't they be just as potent on any other day of the year? Yet still we have bad things happen to us all the time?"

George stared at her as they kept walking together, not looking where he was going, and slammed right into a wall.

"Ow! See April I told you, bad luck today."

"There there." She patted him on the back. "Darling, that was pure carelessness, as I said. You just weren't looking where you were going. Now let's hurry, you're going to be late for your seminar.

George didn't see April crossing her fingers behind her back.


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh bother, another broken mirror? This shan't do at all."

"Having problems with your latest endeavor Mr. Partridge?" Napoleon Solo smiled."You know a broken mirror brings seven years bad luck don't you?"

"Yes," Illya Kuryakin chimed in," Imagine if all those mirrors were broken? We would most likely never see you again as you would have to permanently sequester yourself for protection."

G. Emory Partridge was standing in front of a sphere made completely of small square-shaped mirrors; he walked around it, his hands just above its surface, practically caressing it without touching it.

Napoleon and Illya seated in chairs and were tied down, facing each other next to the object.

"Kind of reminds me of a ballroom glitter ball," Solo whispered, "So what makes it so unique? You can find them pretty much in any dance hall now days."

"This my dear fellow is most indubitably not a 'glitter ball." Partridge uttered his words with a distinct tone of disdain. "It is a part of a laser system that I'll be using to amplify light. It will allow me to bend it and target the laser in any direction I choose without having to move it."

"That is impossible, you could only fire using...line of sight. No such thing could exist; iit contradicts the laws of physica." Illya blurted out.

"Oh Mr. Kuryakin you are such a narrow minded little man. To you if it does not exist, then it is impossible."

"You Partridge are a…" Illya mumbled.

"What? Unable to come up with one of your oh so predictable and pithy barbs my Soviet subordinent?"

"None that are worth wasting his breath on," Solo countered.

Emory leaned into Solo's face, turning his back to Kuryakin. "And for that my good fellow you have just earned the distiction of being my first target. You and your Russian cohort have ruined my plans for the last time."

Illya lashed out with his foot, catching Partridge off guard as he connected with the man's derrier, sending him toppling over Napoleon and careening into the glittering ball of mirrors. It shattered into smithereens, and there in the pile of shards, G. Emory Partridge lay cut and bloodied. He lifted his head, intending to say something, but in mid-thought, he drifted into unconsciousness.

Solo lay topped over and wiggled his chair closer to the carnage, grabbing a piece of mirror and used it to cut through his bindings.

Minutes later he was free, pulling himself up, and quickly untied his parnter.

"Nice move tovarisch," he smiled, giving Illya a hand up from the chair.

"Better him than us my friend…we have had enough experience on Friday the 13th to know that bad luck is real. This date was not exactly an auspicious occasion for him to have tried to launch his latest endeavor."

"You've got that right parther mine," Napoleon smiled, "Between that and the Solo luck we did good today."

"What do you mean Solo luck...and 'we?' Illya looked somewhat annoyed.

Napoleon withdrew a pink rabbit's foot from his suit pocket. "Well I suppose this might have helped?" He smiled sheepishly.

"Yes and who gave it to you, may I remind you?" Illya flashed him a look.

"Let's call for a cleanup team and get out of here before anything else happens." Solo eyeballed Partridge to make sure he was still out cold.

"Not to worry, I have this." The Russian pulled a four-leave clover from his pocket, waving it front of the American. "Mark Slate loaned this to me." Illya said, clicking his tongue as he shook his head,"There were at least...two hundred mirrors if not more; so that makes a minimum of fourteen hundred years bad luck for Mr. Partridge..."

"Don't think we'll be hearing much from him again chum."

"One could only hope," Kuryakin sighed.


	7. Chapter 7

Alexander Waverly was a realist for the most part, not given to the frivolities of superstitions in general; except when it came to the infamous date of Friday the 13th, it was on that day he hung a small donkey's horseshoe over his entryways, in both headquarters and at home...though his wife Estelle always poo-pooed his actions, year after year.

He carried in his tweed jacket pocket a worn rabbit's foot keychain though he would never dare admit to any of his personnel of his buying into the beliefs held about the date, except perhaps his assistant Miss Rogers.

The woman had proven time and again how invaluable to him and had become his sounding board on many topics, including his unwarranted irrationality regarding Friday the 13th.

The doors to his conference room opened and in walked Lisa Rogers with his pot of tea they shared together before tackling the the events of the day.

"Good morning Mr. Waverly," she smiled." Your morning tea...darjeeling; I thought it would be the best choice, given the date."

She'd selected it as it had a nice calming effect on him, this particular brew, and Miss Rogers being a connoisseur of teas always had a sixth sense when a difficult day faced him.

"Thank you my dear, you are most efficient," he smiled as she poured for both of them.

Lisa glanced above the entrance to the conference room, not seeing her bosses traditional good luck charm mounted there.

"Sir your donkey shoe, why isn't it on the wall?"

"Ah, astute of you to notice. I have had a change of heart about that, no more donkey shoe."

"But Mr. Waverly, does that mean you're no longer concerned about Friday the 13th?"

"Perish the thought, that date will forever be etched in my heart."

"You never told my why sir?" Lisa sat down in the chair beside him, sipping her tea.

"Hmmm, yes," he paused to light his pipe; a sign to Rogers that Mr. Waverly was becoming introspective.

"When I was a young lad, I was rather sickly. I was forced to stay indoors and would watch the other children at play. Since my family was well- off my parents gave me all sorts of amusements to keep me occupied. I never forgot that, nor was I ever spoilt by them."

"As I became older I outgrew my illness and was able to join the other children at play, but being rather thin and unaccustomed to play, per se, I became the object of some bullies on Friday the 13th. Terribly upsetting day. The would return to torment me every time the date would reoccur. It was a difficult childhood to say the least but with a little luck I became strong and moved on in life.

"I've never let anyone know that I believed in such a superstitious thing as luck. My agents all have their own quasi-irrational notions, though they think I don't know about them."

Lisa smiled, pouring him another cup of darjeeling." Even Illya...I mean Mr. Kuryakyn has been drawn into being a bit superstitious. He borrowed a four-leaf clover from Mark Slate from what I understand. There seems to be a greater sense of nervousness today around headquarters, and I suppose with T.H.R.U.S.H.'s latest threat at world domination this morning, anyone might have the jitters heading out on assignment today."

"And just for that reason I am suspending operations for today in U.N.C.L.E. Northwest. I want my people going out into the field with the utmost confidence and not worried that their best won't be good enough because of Friday the 13th."

"I'll let the Section heads know immediately sir."

"Yes thank you my dear and for the tea and conversation as well. Now if you don't mind would you get someone from maintenance to hang this above the inside entryway to Del Floria's?

He handed her a full-sized horseshoe, cocking his bushy eyebrows with a wry smile.

"Just because I don't want my people reading into Friday the 13th doesn't make me stop believing in it, "he laughed. "A big shoe for a big job. I realized my little donkey shoe was just not enough...oh and by the way it is a shoe belonging to the great 'Man O' War. So it carries with it a lot of luck."

"Man O' War sir? I'm not familiar with that name." Lisa lifted the tray, ready to remove the tea pot, as well as the empty cups and saucers.

"Ah my dear, he was one of the greatest...no perhaps the greatest racehorse of all time. His winning brought quite a bit of luck to my father and helped begin the road back recovery to our family fortune after World War I. My father was visiting the States on a business venture and placed a rather fortuitous bet."

"Luck comes in many forms doesn't it Mr. Waverly?" Lisa smiled.

"Indeed it does Miss Rogers, indeed it does. You may send in Mr. Solo if he has managed to show up on time."

"Yes sir, it's our lucky day. He arrived early and is waiting outside."

"See the horseshoe is working already," Alexander Waverly smiled in return.


End file.
